Uncle Hassan the Elder – The Best Advice I Ever Got

Every family has that one eccentric elder—the one who’s unintentionally hilarious, brutally honest, and weirdly wise. For us, that person was “ Uncle Hassan the Elder”.

Now, Uncle Hassan wasn’t my direct uncle. He was my mom’s uncle, technically, but everyone—from toddlers to elders—called him “Uncle Hassan the Elder” to distinguish him from my actual Uncle Hassan, who was much younger and way less interesting.

Uncle Hassan the Elder was a character straight out of a sitcom. Old-school, ultra-stingy, suspicious of technology, and blessed with a sense of humor he didn’t even know he had. He had this incredible ability to shift from joke mode to philosopher mode within seconds, confusing everyone in the process.

He never had a degree, a business, or a real job, yet somehow managed to assert dominance over every gathering by sheer force of seniority and his unmatched gift for unfiltered advice.

One summer, our extended family held a massive get-together at our orchard. You know the kind—kids running wild, older relatives grilling kebabs, and at least one guy trying to connect a broken speaker to play 90s Persian pop. It was chaotic, beautiful, and loud.

Uncle Hassan sat at the center of it all, on one of those creaky plastic chairs that always looks like it’ll collapse—but never does. At lunch, while everyone was seated in neat rows on the floor, someone tried to have a deep father-son moment about life goals and responsibility.

In the middle of this heartfelt chat, Uncle Hassan suddenly bellowed:

Ali joon! Stop talking! Loosen your belt and eat! You can talk all your life, but the kebab is getting cold right now. That shut everyone up—and also caused an eruption of laughter.

But that was typical of him: emotional disruption followed by unexpected clarity.

After the meal, while everyone sipped tea and picked at watermelon slices, Uncle Hassan suddenly grew serious. You could tell because he leaned forward slightly and raised one eyebrow—a signal that meant “The Old Wisdom is Loading…”

He said: “I want to give you all one piece of advice. This is important, especially for the younger generation.”

Cue the internal eye-roll from all the cousins. We were bracing for the usual old-man lecture: “Study hard, don’t waste time, get married before 30, respect your elders, save money, don’t trust bankers, invest in land not crypto…” But instead, he said:

“If you ever see a line of people, get in it first. THEN ask what it’s for. Because by the time you ask, two other people will have already gotten in front of you”. We blinked. Did we hear that right?

Was this advice… about **queues**?

Everyone chuckled awkwardly, waiting for a punchline. But no, he was dead serious.

“Even if they’re waiting for soup,” he continued, “at least you’ll get the soup. The people who hesitated? Nothing.” It was ridiculous. But somehow, in that moment, it felt weirdly *profound*.

Fast forward to yesterday.

I was attending a big tech conference, lots of people in suits pretending to be important, lots of awkward small talk, lots of free snacks. During the coffee break, I walked into a wide open space and noticed a line forming in the corner. No signs, no staff—just a cluster of people gathering with intent.

Uncle Hassan’s voice echoed in my head:

“**Get in line first. Ask later.**”. Without hesitation, I walked over and joined the back of the line. Ten seconds later, two more people joined behind me. Five more seconds—three more.

Then someone asked the guy ahead of me, “Hey, what’s this for?”

“Fresh espresso and the good pastries,” he replied.

BOOM. Just like that, I was ahead of ten people who hesitated. I got my cappuccino and almond croissant while others were still debating whether it was worth lining up.

It hit me then—Uncle Hassan was a *genius*.

This wasn’t just about lines. It was about *decisiveness*. About acting first, then figuring it out later. About the value of instinct over hesitation.

Sure, he never ran a company or wrote a book, but this one piece of advice? Golden.

It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t deep. But it was **practical**, **hilarious**, and **timeless**.

Just like the man himself.